Finders Keepers
by Succi
Summary: When she looked up from her newspaper, she realized that they should have come out of the tunnel long ago. At that moment the train stopped abruptly. – Molly and Sherlock are on their way to Dartmoor for a case, and just as Molly sees light at the end of the tunnel for a possible relationship with Sherlock, the lights go out. – Set in series 3
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own them so please don't sue.

A/N: I wrote (a version with different names of) this story about 10 years ago in school, as part of an exam. The exercise was: The first two sentences (in bold) are given and then you have to continue.

I really wanted to include the phrase "finders keepers" in my text, because I had just learned it while watching Emergency Room (Carby 4ever!). So, while all my class mates wrote stories about joyful train rides and fluffy clouds, my morbid mind made me do this:

* * *

**When she looked up from her newspaper, she realized that they should have come out of the tunnel long ago. At that moment the train stopped abruptly. **  
"Just great," she thought as she sighed and lowered the newspaper. Automatically the emergency lights came to life. For some reason they were flickering and that made the interior look quite creepy. She couldn't help the thought that it reminded her of some horror movie. She was waiting for someone to suggest, "We should split up!"

In her mind she tried to picture a map to find out where they probably were. About 2 and a half hours ago they had started their journey from London to Dartmoor; so that left them somewhere between Taunton and New Abbot. **They **meant Sherlock and her. Since John was on his honeymoon ("No, Sherlock, we won't call it sex-holiday! That's why there are such things as euphemisms."), he had asked her to join him. And since she thought it would be a good distraction to get her mind off the end of her relationship with Tom, she had jumped the train (no pun intended). Obviously some female scientist from the Baskerville Military Base (whom Sherlock knew from their Baskerville case) had asked the detective for help. Sherlock hadn't gone into detail (Actually now that she thought about it, he hadn't really said anything at all about the nature of the case…), but just had asked her to join him on the case. Well, "asked her" wasn't right. He "asked" in a Sherlock-kind-of-way, "You will join me on a case in Dartmoor. The train leaves at 7:03 p.m. from Paddington. Mike Stamford already knows that you'll need a few days off." With that he had left the morgue with a flying Belstaff, leaving a speechless pathologist behind.

Of course she hadn't complained and of course she had been waiting on the platform with a small suitcase (She had had no idea what to pack when going on a case with Sherlock Holmes. John Watson would have taken his gun with him for sure, but since she had no gun…). He had greeted her, given her the ticket and even helped her with the suitcase (You could say what you wanted about the Holmes boys, but their mother had taught them some manners. The question was just, if they were in the mood to show them).

At first they had been alone in the compartment and Molly had used the opportunity to ask him about the case. But like said before, he had not elaborated and when she had asked him why he needed her to come with him, his face had become a stony mask, and he had mumbled something like, "Someone needs to collect the stories for John's blog." But before he could avert his gaze, something had flickered across his face. It had been an odd mixture between worry, embarrassment and fear. But it had passed so quickly that Molly could not be sure if it had just been her imagination.

She had heard a little bit from John about their previous adventure in Baskerville. John had told her that he had never seen Sherlock like that before. The detective had been frightened by what he had seen in the woods of Dartmoor and hadn't had any idea how to cope with that. So Molly figured that was the main reason for him asking to join her: He didn't want to be alone, in case something similar would happen again. But Sherlock Holmes would not be Sherlock Holmes, if he would admit anything like that. And since she was Molly Hooper, there was not really any need to do that – she knew it without him telling her, and he knew that. That's why the pathologist felt honoured that he would trust her enough to "ask" her to come with him. It gave her the feeling that he had meant what he had said: she did count and she did matter.

Knowing not to press that matter, she had not asked any more questions about the case and they had settled in a comfortable silence. She had started to read the newspaper and Sherlock had retreated into his mind palace.

After about half an hour train ride, when Molly had been just about to finish an article about some woman called Gloria Scott, Sherlock had broken the silence.  
"I'm sorry about you and Tom."  
Molly had put the newspaper down. "No, you're not."  
His mouth had twitched, like he had been resisting to grin wickedly. But he had sobered his face quickly. "No, you're right. I'm not."  
"But I appreciate the effort though."  
"He was downright boring. I don't understand how you could…" When he had seen her face, he had shut up and had looked down on his lap.  
She could not resist a chuckle. That had made Sherlock look up again at her surprised. She had explained, "It's okay Sherlock. I know you don't mean to hurt me. So insult away." Her tone had been light and to say he had looked thunderstruck would have been an understatement. He had cleared his throat.  
"Well, then I can say that I'm glad you've come to your senses and that you're mine again."  
The moment he had realized what he had said, he had looked at least as shocked as she had.

Her mouth had opened and closed a few times and she had thought, "I've always been yours." Sherlock's face had taken on an even more shattered expression, if that had been even possible. He had looked downright catatonic. That was when she had realized it had not been a thought, but she had said that out loud. Her eyes had gone wide and she had brought a hand over her mouth. Not for the first time (and probably not for the last) in her life, Molly Hooper had wished she could take back what she had said.

Although he had sat there unmoving, a dozen emotions had been swirling in his eyes: shock, fear, denial, disbelieve, wonder, affection and some others Molly could not name. They all had been battling for dominance.

Molly had felt the need to mitigate her statement, at least a little bit.  
"Sherlock, I didn't mean…" But before she had had any chance to finish her sentence, denial had won out, and Sherlock had gotten up abruptly. His body had been stiff and his jaw tense. Without a word he had opened the door of the compartment and had not been seen again until Taunton.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Did you miss me? I am back. Thank you for your encouraging words, your nice messages, your alerts etc – they made my holiday even better!  
Be aware that there won't be the fluffy ending my stories usually have. You have been WARNED! **

* * *

Just as the train had entered the station of Taunton, Sherlock had appeared again in the compartment. Molly had been so lost in her thoughts that she had jumped when his baritone had brought her back to reality.  
"There are a lot of people on the platform," as if that would have been an excuse for him to join her again.  
She had only nodded, not knowing what to reply to that.

He had sat down beside her again, his posture stiff.

It had already gotten dark outside, but in the illuminated station Molly had seen that there had been in deed a lot of people waiting to board the train.

When the train had continued its journey, there had been three other people sitting in their compartment. Sherlock had considered all of them with a disdainful look. It goes without saying that he had not even greeted them. Unlike Molly, who had greeted everyone with a nervous smile. It had not escaped Molly's notice that Sherlock had sent the man daggers who had been checking her out. And she couldn't help the irrational warm feeling that had given her.

It had been clear for everyone to see that Sherlock had felt more than uncomfortable. She herself hardly had felt any better. The things they had accidentally confessed before had still been lingering in the air – a giant elephant in the room. But she had seen no opportunity to raise the subject while sharing the compartment with other passengers. Therefore Molly had not been surprised when the consulting detective had gotten up and had murmured, "Too much noise."  
Before she had had any chance to point out that nobody had said a word, he had explained, "I can hear them thinking." He had gestured to each of the other passengers. "Three Andersons in one room." With that he had left the compartment again.

Molly had considered herself lucky that he had not included her, when insulting the people in the compartment. So she had sighed and had picked up the newspaper again.

And now the train stopped.

The 3 people she shared the compartment with were looking as confused and anxious as she felt. Being trapped inside a dark tunnel wasn't on top of the "things-you-have-to-do-in-your-life"-list. But she was more curious than afraid, and so she stood up, put the newspaper on her seat and left the compartment to find Sherlock. She momentarily forgot about the elephant in the room, because there were more important things to deal with right now.

She shivered. Suddenly she was feeling cold. She wrapped her cherry-jumper tighter around herself. She tried to look out of the window, but all she could see was her own reflection due to the darkness outside. The flickering light made the reflection of her face look like a bizarre mixture of a Picasso and a Munch.

More and more people left their compartments as well and the passageway was full of suitcases. She had to be careful not to stumble over some baggage. Without really knowing why, she was sure something about this situation was not right – not right at all. Another shiver ran down her spine, and she felt her hair stand on end.

Suddenly she collided with someone.  
"God, Sherlock, you scared me to death!"  
The consulting detective looked worried. "We have to leave the train, Molly."  
She looked at him puzzled. She knew something was going on. Something he was not telling her.  
"Don't ask, just get out of the train," his voice was a low, commanding whisper.

While he was whispering she saw a crowd coming their direction.

The people looked scared.

"Sherlock, what…" She couldn't finish her sentence, because he cut her off by taking her hand and pulling her towards the door. His grip was somehow desperate and that frightened her even more than the panicking people coming their way. She knew he had taken her hand as not to lose her in the crowd, but at the same time she knew there was something more to it – like he was afraid to lose **her.**

He reached the door, opened it and helped her out. She could see the crowd approaching them and heard the people in the back screaming , "Get out! Get out! They'll kill us!"  
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Who wanted to kill them? What the hell was going on? More and more people started to scream and panic, trying to reach the door as fast as possible. The situation seemed to get out of hand quickly, without anyone really knowing what was going on.

Sherlock had ushered her outside. Molly was standing in the middle of the tunnel surrounded by darkness. There was no lightning. It was pitch black. The only source of light was the faint glow shining through the train windows, but that didn't illuminate the tunnel at all. She couldn't even see her hands before her eyes. She could feel a cold wind grazing her face and Sherlock's hand tightly holding onto hers.

"Sherlock?" Her voice wavered. She could not hide her fear.

He pulled her closer to him and she could feel his hot breath against her ear as he whispered, "And I am yours."

She turned her head and tried to find his eyes although she knew it was useless. She could only make out his silhouette illuminated by the flickering emergency lights of the inside of the train. She was confused, anxious, afraid and could not believe what he had said. Did he mean it? But why tell her now? Why not before and why not wait until they would be alone in Dartmoor? A dreadful thought crossed her mind. _What if we won't make it there? _

She registered how person after person got out of the train, some shouting, some not, but all a frightened expression on their faces – and then they vanished in the darkness.

Suddenly a shot was heard.

"Molly run!"

Sherlock's voice held no trace of objection, and she could feel the distress coming off him in waves. For an instant his hand squeezed hers reassuringly, before almost shoving her away from him. She obeyed blindly (no pun intended), trusting he knew what to do.

Molly ran further into the tunnel – at least that's what she believed, because she hadn't paid attention in which direction the train was going to, so she had no orientation at all. She did not know if she ran into the direction the train was going or coming from. She stumbled over the rails and was afraid to fall anytime, because she could not see where she was going.

She ran and ran, but after a while she stopped. She didn't know how far she had made it, but she had no breath left. Her last visit to a fitness centre had been a while ago. She turned around.

In the distance she could make out the faint emergency lights of the train. Where was Sherlock? Had he even followed her? Had he been running beside her at some point? She felt herself getting frantic. She tried to stump the feeling down, but didn't quite succeed.  
"Sherlock?" she whispered.

There was no answer.

She tried desperately not to panic. Why had he told her to run? What had happened on the train? Where had the other passengers gone? She had not encountered anyone during her flight. And she could not hear anyone. It was like she was all alone in a dark bubble of nothingness. Still, she felt like being watched, like there was someone present. And that gave her the creeps. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt cold sweat on her forehead. She needed Sherlock. Now.

"Sherlock?" she tried again a bit louder, but the answer was the same as before: silence.  
She sighed deeply to calm herself down, but suddenly she held her breath. Someone touched her arm, and whispered, "Finders keepers!" And she knew it wasn't Sherlock Holmes who was talking to her. But it was another voice that she would recognize anytime, anywhere.

* * *

Elsewhere Sherlock was searching for Molly. Where had she gone? He was surrounded by lots of people, but none of them was his pathologist. Everyone was running around aimlessly, trying not to lose their loved ones. Men were sheep!

He should have followed her right away, not waiting to see if the bastard would show himself. He had thought it would be wise to send her away – away from the target, away from him – that that would be the best way to keep her from harm. Now he doubted his decision. He hated being in doubt.

He called her name, but there was no answer. He was looking around frantically.

He had known it. Somehow he had known it all along. But he hadn't wanted to believe it. And then, when he had sat in the buffet car after he had left the compartment, there had been this napkin on his table. There had been something written on it. And even before he had pulled it closer, he had known what he was about to read: I.O.U.

Suddenly he heard a scream that made his blood run cold, and he knew without a doubt that it was Molly Hooper who was screaming.

**The End **


End file.
